The Less Than Epic Adventures of Kirk and Spock
by Kitsune Krazy
Summary: After a night of drinking Spock ends up agreeing to a stranger's plan to travel cross-country. KirkXSpock, Spirk, Bromance, Lemon in later chapters. Heavily based off TJ and Amal webcomic.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: After a night of drinking Spock ends up agreeing to a stranger's plan to travel cross-country. KirkXSpock, Spirk, Bromance, Lemon in later chapters. **

The Vulcan Embassy on Earth was a beautiful gated community stationed in San Francisco and just over a mile wide. It consisted of, naturally, the embassy itself; a beautiful skywards spiral twenty stories tall and decorated in the beautiful style of post 21st century Vulcan architecture about 3 city blocks in width, but there was more to it than that. Besides the political building, which held the many offices and meeting spaces and even a few apartments near the 19th floor, the community also held beautiful gardens and several small neighborhoods full of houses of designed with the same beautiful Vulcan architecture as the Embassy. Supposedly, the Terrans had hired several well-known architects of the time to assist in the project when the embassy was made back in the late 22nd century. Overall the hold thing was spread out over nearly 3 acres of land and divided into roughly 15 city blocks.

It was late in the evening, the Terran sun's dying rays fragmenting beautifully off the glass of the Embassy. Most of the Vulcans who worked or lived there were headed home or currently there and a deep quiet, provided by noise canceling generators placed on the corners of the gate surrounding the Embassy, was starting to set in.

It was thanks to this calm quiet of early evening that nearly every person on Embassy grounds could hear the ruckus going down at the Ambassador's house. Not all of the Vulcans were close enough to hear the exact words of course, but thanks to the very human shouting of Amanda Grayson, the Embassy's sole Terran inhabitant and Ambassador Sarek's wife, it wasn't hard for the other inhabitants and their unusually good hearing to discern that a squabble was going on.

Spock didn't bother to stay in the house and endure his mother's shouting, even if it wasn't directed at him. He just couldn't stand to spend one more minute in the living room, standing around his parent's coffee table as his father stared at him in that cold, calculating, _disappointed_ way. He quickly turned tail and left without another word and his mother, predictably, stopped scolding her husband and followed her son.

Spock didn't bother trying to explain himself to his mother and it was only after she'd chased him out of the house, down the steps and to his hover car parked in front of their home that he turned and spoke to her.

They argued, and even with his emotions in check, the boy couldn't help but raise his voice. He felt a stab of regret when he saw his mother's face, hurt, and was almost tempted to go back inside to talk things out like she wanted. But he couldn't. He just could not deal with his father and told Amanda this. He shook his head one final time at her begging and pleading before getting in his car. He watched he go back into the house with his review mirror before promptly slamming his head down onto his steering wheel. He remained in that uncomfortable position for a minute then took a deep breath and tried to stuff his emotions back into place. He sighed, a human trait he'd picked up from living amongst humans, and turned on his car. Then he drove away, refusing to look back as he left the Embassy and hopped onto the I80 towards Berkeley.

He breathed a sigh of relief on his metaphorical tires his the Bay Bridge, signaling the escape from San Francisco, and he watched the hover cars in front of him with only the minimal attention required to not get in an accident, his mind far away. It wasn't until nearly the end of the bridge that he snapped back to attention, signs above him pointing towards a fork in the highway leading to I80 and the I580.

He wasn't sure why he did it, after all his apartment and responsibilities lay in Berkeley, but Spock suddenly felt compelled to turn off towards the I580, to Oakland.

It certainly wasn't a logical choice, going to Oakland, but perhaps that's why he did it. An act of spite and rebellion towards his father, a man who'd forced him to follow Kolinar and give up everything for logic just to turn around and disown his son out of illogical hate. Maybe that's also why Spock chose to pull off at the nearest bar he saw to drown his sorrows. It wasn't logical, but maybe he needed a little illogic right now.

The bar was called '_The Grunge_' and from the look of the grimy floor and dirty bar seats, it was aptly named. Spock seemed to be one of the only customer's there, and of course he was the only Vulcan, perhaps that's why the attractive female Orion barkeeper was so excited to attempt conversation with him. But Spock did not give her his name or respond to her questions, he simply asked if the carried chocolate liquor or something Vulcans could get intoxicated off of and she gave him a curious look and a smile. The barkeeper seemed just as surprised as Spock that they had something, since Vulcans usually drank for flavor and etiquette, and preceded to pour him a shot of a dark, amber colored liquid. He downed it immediately, and silently held up his finger, requesting another.

The girl seemed perplexed, but quickly understood. She told him that he wasn't like most Vulcans, in an inquisitive and polite sort of way and after another shot Spock felt moderately friendly enough to cryptically respond, "I am aware."

After a silent agreement, the Orion went back to tending her bar and only came back to Spock when he held up a slender finger, which was his was of requesting another shot. It was very clear he was in a bad mood and not willing to talk. For some reason this seemed to make the barkeeper happy, but by the time she said so Spock had had enough shots to give into the warm feeling and silent glower, effectively tuning her out. It was a ridiculous notion to be excited that a Vulcan was showing emotion, especially a negative one, anyway.

It was after Spock's fourth shot that he began to start nearly stacking his glasses upside down in a tower and after receiving his fifth that he began to check out a customer that appeared and started to converse with the barkeeper. The man, who was an attractive, well built blonde with startling blue eyes, was very obviously flirting with the Orion. They laughed for a second and then the blonde said something, and the girl shook her head and began to turn away, mixing a drink for another customer. Spock traced his finger around the rim of his shot glass when his COM unit began to chirp, disrupting his musings. Someone was trying to contact him. The Vulcan sighed and gave on last peek at the blond before unhooking the COM from his pants and looking at the screen. He furrowed his eyebrows at the caller id and quickly downed his shot, expecting that he might need the extra alcohol to deal with this call.

"Hello, Nyota." Spock answered, evidently failing to keep a slur out of his voice. "…Out." He responded evasively and tried to refocus the caller on something else, "How is your thesis coming along? … it was not my intent to distract you fr… Vulcans do not lie, Nyota as I'm sure you… negative, I am not inebriated…" He pursed his lips, quickly becoming drained with the bombarded of questions. "Nyota please. I assure you I am fine, my family and I simply got into a minor altercation…"

Spock flicked his empty shot glass as he listened to his friend go on about how she was here for him if he wished to talk and a few other things. "Negative, I do no wish to speak of- I am aware you are here for me, I appreciate the sentiment." He sighed at her next question and remembered that he still hadn't stacked two of the five glasses he had. He carefully stacked another glass. "Well, I doubt I can now take a shuttle there but I assure you I will attend…I do not _care_, Nyota. It is _your_ day, I will be there even if I must drive _cross country_ myself." The Vulcan punctuated his sentence by stacking his final cup on top of the already wobbling tower. This seemed to catch the blonde's attention, who stopped speaking to look over at him. Since the blonde was momentarily distracted, successfully derailing their conversation, the barkeeper looked towards Spock as well to see what was going on. Spock quickly took the opportunity to catch her attention and order another shot. "Do not fret Nyota, I will keep my promise… Affirmative…" The bartender set down another shot in from of him and stared at his makeshift tower of shot glasses as if debating to take them away and clean them. He quickly took his shot and stacked it upon the others, raising an eyebrow at the girl in a clear challenge. The Orion was not about to fight the Vulcan for his stack of dirty dishes so she shrugged and allowed his to keep his tower. Satisfied, Spock returned to his conversation, which was coming to a close. "I am fond of you as well… I understand… goodbye… yes, Nyota… goodbye."

He snapped the COM shut with a decisive 'click' and then promptly slumped over the bar with a sigh, careful not to harm his tower as he sprawled out. After only a second's hesitation his slammed his forehead onto the bar and stayed like that, breathing deeply and trying to retire his sanity.

This day had been long indeed.

"Hey." A deep voice, sweet and charming sounded off to his right. It was all Spock could do not to glare when he looked up towards the intruding sound. It was the blonde from across the bar, he'd somehow migrated over towards Spock while he was moping – not that the Vulcan would ever call it that. "What are you having?" The blond persisted, not at all concerned by the Vulcan's expression.

Now that the blonde was closer to him, Spock could tell he was Terran, his rosy, pinkish skin and rounded ears confirming it. He wore a plain white shit that was fairly snug against his well-toned chest, a pair of jeans that Spock was certain human females called 'booty pants', a black leather jacket and, of all things, a blue backpack. Spock didn't bother to see what shoes the blond was wearing because he was almost certain his stomach would not be able to handle looking at the ground. There was also a pair of sunglasses atop his messy hair, probably Aviators – this man's whole appearance screamed 'play boy', it would be fitting and fairly logical to assume that the blonde's taste in jock attire extended to his glasses.

He smiled and said something else that Spock didn't catch and then turned and talked to the bartender again. She looked at Spock and then glared at the blonde, aggressively polishing a cocktail glass and saying something back. They seemed to argue and finally two shots were placed on the bar near the Vulcan's flushed ear tips. He realized his head was still on the table.

The blonde seemed to say something and then laughed, Spock merely watched the movement of his diaphragm make his abs dance for a moment before he accepted the man's offering and downed the other shot.

He couldn't remember if he'd managed to stack that one. He remembered looking at a small pile of three or four other shots tipped and rolling about the bar.

Did he drink those?

Why did he not put them atop his tower?

Where was his shot glass tower anyway?

He couldn't seem to remember, everything seemed to go hazy.

Suddenly the blonde was leaning over him with an arm under his shoulders.

Everything seemed to get hazy again, and the next thing Spock recognized was a white porcelain toilet bowl in front of him.

He heaved, and he remembered a bitter taste.

Suddenly there was wind in his hair, he though hi might be leaning his head out a car window but wasn't sure.

Then another toilet bowl came into sight, this one seemed familiar, but he couldn't understand why.

He heaved again, and that bitter taste burst across his senses once more.

The blonde was suddenly looking over him again, his eyebrows furrowed in a concerned way.

And then Spock just stopped trying to remember things.

Nothing was making sense anyway.

So he finally let himself fall into the dark.

**More AU Spirk! Because I can and I LOVE IT O.O Annnnnyway if you liked please review! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

Spock woke to the piecing pain of brilliant sunlight sneaking through his blinds and punching him square in the eyes. His skull was full of rusty nails that rattled about his head, stabbing his brain. His first immediate action was to squeeze his eyes tighter and groan, as if the sun would listen to his complaint and shut itself off. He knew this was illogical, but the thought comforted him nonetheless.

When this failed, as was predicted, he pulled his covers over his head and immediately began to suffocate in the stifling warmth of his blankets. Utterly defeated, the Vulcan finally sat up in his bed and rubbed his face irritably. He looked over at his alarm clock. It was a quarter to ten. After a long moment of simply staring at the clock and scrubbing at his eyes, willing the cacophony in his head to calm down, Spock suddenly realized that he'd some how gotten home last night.

He continued rubbing at his eyes trying to make sense of how this had occurred, hoping he hadn't chosen to drive inebriated. He yawned and stared blearily at his door, which was slightly ajar for some reason, only then becoming aware of the sounds coming from his kitchen. He frowned, his eyebrows folding in a soft 'V' and rubbed his eyes again. Apparently he was not alone in his apartment, yet the young Vulcan was unable to bring himself to care.

After a moment, he somehow summoned the will to stand and nearly toppled out of bed. He managed to catch himself and then, with all the delicacy and grace of a newly animated corpse, he shuffled out of his room to figure out where that singing was coming from.

It only took him two steps to go from his room to the kitchen, his apartment was rather small and had no living room, and he was immediately confronted with the sight of a total stranger dancing about his kitchen, singing while he tended to something in a frying pan. The intruder was human, well built, with blonde hair and wearing a white t-shirt. He also wore Spock's favorite apron and oven mitt, a blue matching set with the formula of Warp Core Relativity on them. He stared, uncomprehending, trying to make sense of the man before him, for longer than was considered polite and tried to discern if he was still intoxicated or hallucinating.

The stranger turned towards him and stared back, his piercing blue eyes striking a familiar chord in the Vulcan's shattered memory, yet he still couldn't really place where he'd seen the man before. After along, rather awkward pause, Spock finally found his tongue and, despite it feeling furry and dry, managed to articulate something. "Please identify yourself and explain why you are in my kitchen."

The blue eyes widened for a second and then the man flashed him a radiant smile. It was too bright; it hurt Spock's head. He turned around and slunk into one of the two chairs at his tiny breakfast table. "I'm guessing you don't remember last night then." The blonde continued to smirk; Spock rubbed his eyes again and frowned. The man seemed far too chipper for early in the morning, and that was when Spock suddenly remembered seeing him at the bar. He remembered how flirty the man had been with the barkeeper and if he was suddenly in Spock's house, sending those blinding rays of charm his way…

It took everything the alien had in his hangover state not to groan and he buried his face in his hand, uncharacteristically annoyed.

"Would it be unwise to hope we did not engage in carnal acts?" The Vulcan asked, just barely holding in a sigh. He was in the presence of another, he had to at least _attempt_ to school his emotions, even if his mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his head full of needles.

The blonde stared at Spock for a second and their eyes met. The Vulcan arched an eyebrow, feeling compelled to prompt the man to answer the question so he could go get shots if need be. The blonde furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly serious, "No, no of course not. You were completely blacked out man, I wouldn't do that kinda shit."

"I see." Spock commented, he was glad he hadn't bed a stranger and would not be required to visit a doctor within the next twenty-four hours. Somehow he still got the distinct impression he would've been more appreciative if he was alone to process the situation and a stranger wasn't rampaging about his house.

"Hey do you have any paprika or something?" The blonde asked, looking over at the Vulcan and pulling him out of his musings. The human almost started laughing again when he saw a flicker of confusion and irritation pass over his face.

"No." Spock said with an air that suggested he did not know nor care to know what was being asked for, the trespasser shrugged nonchalantly saying, "Ah, well then forgive me if this isn't the most flavorful breakfast."

The Vulcan stared at him, clearly not in the mood for chatting or breakfast. He was unsure whether he was supposed to ask the other man to leave or if he would go on his own.

"_So_. D.C." The blonde said after a minute with only the sizzling of the frying pan to break the silence.

Spock didn't understand, "Pardon?" he asked, deciding that it wasn't _too _uncouth to rest his arms and head on top of the breakfast table in his own home. He body was starting to ache.

"We talked about going to Washington, D.C. last night; hammered out a lot of the details…" The man paused and smirked at Spock in a way that irritated the Vulcan, "..but then again, _you_ were pretty hammered." He chuckled.

Spock glared at the other man for a brief second but soon lost interest as the human continued to talk. He wasn't exactly listening and more, merely focusing of the man's voices. He looked the blonde over with growing irritation and was unsuccessfully trying to block out his voice as he started to rant about the _freedom_ of D.C. and the Terran history behind it. It was utter nonsense. To Spock's sensitive alien ears it sounded like a marching band was pounding at his eardrums and he wanted to strangle the intruder but was too tired to do anything other than bury his face in the crook of his arms.

The blonde continued to rant for a while as he mucked about the kitchen, completely unaware that his audience was zoning out. Spock watched him grab a spatula and transfer eggs onto a plate. He then came over and placed it in front of Spock with a flourish, "Voila! Eggs ala me, with a side of Advil." He then held out his oven-mitt clad hand and said, "My name's James Kirk by the way. Since you probably don't remember."

Spock spent a long second looking at the oven-mitt held out to him, long enough for Kirk to feel awkward. Finally, after the human was about to retract his hand, Spock took it in a Terran handshake. Apparently the Vulcan had decided it would be safe since the cloth would block emotional transference but Kirk was completely floored that a _Vulcan_ of all things had just shook his hand.

"I am S'chn T'gai Spock." Spock said to answer the bewildered expression his guest was giving him. He was unsure why he'd told this human his full name instead of using his typical title of 'Spock son of Sarek'. At the thought of his dad, however, he immediately soured and decided it was appropriate to introduce himself as unaffiliated with Sarek. The man would probably disown him anyway.

"Um…" Kirk coughed lightly and Spock realized he was still holding his hand. He abruptly let go and laid his head back upon the table. He was so caught up in his thoughts he failed to notice Kirk was attempting to pronounce his name. Spock stopped him with a tiny upturning of his lips and said, "My first name is unpronounceable to humans. Please call me Spock."

Relief filled Kirk's wide blue eyes and he smiled that radiant smile again, "Spock, well it's a pleasure to meet you." He turned around and began taking off his oven mitt, saying, "Anyway eat up!" He seemed to regain his confidence as he began cleaning up the kitchen, "That and a little water should get the rest of the poison from you… I was thinking maybe we could leave in an hour? If you're still up for it I mean? And my offer still stands-"

Spock wasn't listening. He got one whiff of the eggs in front of him and suddenly had another bout of nausea. He quickly pushed himself to his feet and all but ran to his bathroom to puke.

The human turned around at the sound of vomiting looked at the empty table and felt a little guilty. "Oh. My bad dude, thought you'd got it all out of your system." He scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepishly. After a few minutes he began humming to himself and sank down in a chair to twiddle his thumbs.

* * *

After about a half hour and the Vulcan still hadn't returned he looked toward the eggs and called, "Hey man do you still want these eggs? Cuz I mean if you don't…"

The only sound he got was another round of gagging so he shrugged and decided to give the other man some privacy.

About thirty minutes later Spock found himself sitting on the small couch next to his kitchen table with a damp towel around his neck to help settle his stomach. Kirk was furiously pacing in front of him while the Vulcan tried desperately not to zone out.

"Ok," The blonde was saying, "My offer still stands, same as last night. We're both heading east right? So you drive I'll pay. Gas, lodging, food, _whatever_, I got it. Car breaks down? I got that too, all I need is for you to drive, I'm not too good at that."

Spock took a moment to watch Kirk pace and tried to ignore the pounding in his head, the Advil had yet to take effect, when I thought struck him. "I believe we met at a bar in Berkeley." He said, pulling Kirk from his ramblings.

Kirk looked down at the Vulcan, with his flushed green cheeks and adorably spaced out, blank expression. He was obviously not all there at the moment, but Kirk decided to humor him, "Uh, yes?" He said, not sure where the alien was going with this question or if _he_ even knew, "Yes we did."

Spock's eyebrows furrowed and his nose wrinkled slightly in an almost unnoticeable way as he processed the information, "If you are not capable of operating vehicles, may I inquire how we travelled from Oakland to my residence in Berkley?"

"Ah." Kirk stared at him for a moment and rubbed his neck, "Well, I promise you're car's still in one piece but, uh, lets say it was probably good there were no cops out last night."

The small 'V' between the Vulcan's eyebrows deepened, he murmured, "That would explain some of my discomfort." His wonderful, picture perfect memory recalling the few times he managed to escape the grip of black out. They were all moments he had puked.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Kirk shrugged sheepishly, "Didn't really realize Vulcans got sick like that."

Spock somehow made a face that managed to perfectly display his complete disbelief and disproval at such a statement without moving a muscle.

How could _anybody_ not get sick with such an incompetent driver?

Kirk coughed awkwardly and continued, "Anyway… are you down? For the road trip thing I mean? Because I can understand if you feel like bowing out." He shrugged as if either way he truly did not mind, "It could be fun though, ya know. Unless you've got something keeping you here…"

The Vulcan's eyes widened a little at that and he immediately thought of his father's disappointed face and his mother's hurt.

"No." Spock said, "I most certainly do not."

He was on his feet in mere seconds, fluidly rising as though not completely hangover. Kirk found himself vaguely jealous of the feat. "Allow me to collect a few items and I will be ready."

The blonde shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets with a smile, "Yeah, sure man, no problem."

* * *

Outside of the apartment complex in front of Spock's ground floor residence and partially in his assigned parking space sat a blue hover car of Terran make. It looked similar to the Volvo S90 made in 2013 but with several more modern upgrades, such as a lack of wheels in favor of antigravity phase locks, which caused the vehicle to hover above ground and allowed it flight and extra maneuverability. Still, the looks were uncannily similar – perhaps because Volvo had somehow to survive the Terran First Contact Renaissance and the model happened to be an S900, the 2255 make, less than two years old.

The vehicle sat, unassuming, across three spaces designated for the residents of the complex. It was askew and partially parked on a flower patch that Spock's neighbor had spent hours meticulously planting. The patch now looked like the victim of a SAW movie.

Somebody would have to pay for that.

**YAAAAAAAAAY Chapter 2's up and done! :D If you liked PLEASE review! They fuel me!**


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